


Ship It

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, High School AU, Long One Shot, One Shot, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Tumblr request, modern day AU, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Request: "If your request are open can you do another ramsay bolton where they are in high school and he is popular and he slowly falls for shy reader but he won't admit it because he is dating someone else but they hookup with each other at a party and she finds out she is pregnant with his baby and in the end they get together. "After history class one day, your teacher urges you to apply for a summer internship at the downtown museum. When you go to the first interview, you find Ramsay Bolton there who is also vying for a place in the program. Both of you enter into a strange alliance that leads into roads you'd never thought you could travel.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ms. Y/N, can you read the next paragraph out loud?” the history teacher asked you. When you shifted in your seat, you locked eyes with him again. Ramsay Bolton was among the rich and popular at North Westeros High School. He chewed at the eraser on the end of his pencil, waiting to hear you speak like the rest of the class. You enjoyed history. It was the only class you shared with him, and it was your favorite subject.

You read aloud a summary of a battle long ago. A civil war within a single house that almost destroyed everything. It was sad how a family can break apart and kill each other for power, but that was history. You’ve seen worse at home where your stepsiblings would argue with each parent. Civil war wasn’t foreign in your life. It was relatable.

The school bell rang for the day and everyone was out of their seats within seconds. You understood. History seemed bland to everyone else. It was boring. Who wanted to listen to a bunch of words dead men said? You packed up your things slowly, taking care to keep everything in neat order. You almost left the classroom when your teacher called your name.

“Sorry, Mr. Cayce. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I only wanted to give you something,” Mr. Edgar Cayce handed over a pamphlet and an application to you. “There’s an internship program at the museum downtown. One of my past students is in charge there. I recommended you and showed her your last two papers. I think you should apply. It would open some doors for you.”

You smiled softly. “Thank you, Mr. Cayce. That’s really thoughtful of you. I’ll think about it.” You tucked the pamphlet and application between your folder and notebook and ducked your way out of the classroom. The next thing you saw was a redheaded girl kissing Ramsay’s cheek. She played with his fingers and they walked off together. His eyes lingered on you for a moment and then back to his girlfriend.

You couldn’t say it stung you. Ramsay and his girlfriend had been going out with each other for months. You were used to seeing them together. It was hard to swallow. You daydreamed so many times over the idea of you kissing his cheek and playing with his fingers. You also daydreamed of other thoughts that made your cheeks warm. 

None of your naughty thoughts were known to the world. You only had one friend you were attached to. And even he didn’t know about your quiet crush on Ramsay.

“So, are you going to do it?”  
“I don’t know. There’s just a lot of people, you know?” you sighed. “What if I mess up something?”

“You won’t,” David reached his hand over to touch yours. “This is something you really love. Working at the museum for the summer? Getting out of your horrid house? Surrounded by artifacts and other people like you? It’s perfect for you. I think I know what’s really wrong here.”

“What?”

“You’re scared, honey,” David only called you honey when he dropped any kind of truth on you. The first time you brought Crocs? Honey. When you thought Santa Claus was real at 15? Honey. When you thought that RuPaul’s Drag Race was a show only for gays? Hoooonnnnnney. Ru Paul’s Drag Race is for everyone. 

David picked up his phone and opened Facebook. His newsfeed with buzzing with LGBTQA articles, friends posting selfies of themselves, and people haring inks of cute kitten videos. His friends number was upwards of 250 people. You frowned. You knew exactly what he was going to say.

“You’re so scared of rejection that you miss out on everything! I mean, look at—

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“And the point still stands,” David firmly spoke. “This is perfect for you. Take it, damn you. I mean, fuck, if Ms. Reyes handed me an internship for Vogue, you best believe I would not be here moping to my best friend about it.”

“I guess you’re right. It would be really cool,” you half-smiled. The idea of spending all summer in a museum with people like you. Away from people screaming. Away from everyone who didn’t matter. That was perfect. “Could you help me pick out an outfit for the interview?”

“Interview? Are you getting paid?” David’s eyes lit up like Christmas. His flat brown hair seemed to have static electricity running through it. His glasses reflected like a Japanese anime character ready to make a stand.

“No, there’s a couple rounds of interviews to get a place in the program,” you explained, almost laughing. “I wanna look my best.”

David’s smile turn to sheer horrific glee. “I watched Devil Wears Prada 79 times. I am prepared for this.”

The flats you borrowed from David’s sister went perfectly with the green dress that David picked from your closet. Your hair was loose in curls around you, and David forced you in his bathroom to wear makeup. It certainly wasn’t your comfort zone, but at least your feet were comfy. 

After receiving instructions from front desk information, you found yourself in the waiting room of Anna Nguyen, PhD. The room was mostly empty save for Anna’s assistant at her desk and Ramsay sitting in one of the few chairs by the office. You found yourself unable to breathe for a moment. Your head filled with questions.

Was what he doing here? Is he wearing an Armani suit? Does he even like history? What was he doing here? Did Mr. Cayce give him an application too? Is he that smart? What was he doing here?

Why was he here?

You quietly made your way over to one seat over from Ramsay. You took out your resume and recommendation letters and read over everything. You heard something shift and a voice.

“Hey, it’s you,” Ramsay said. “Y/N? We have History together.” Your mouth ran dry. You cleared your throat before you said anything.

“Yeah.”

“I guess you’re here for the internship?” He asked you. You nodded your head. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not much for talking, hm? You’re probably smarter than me, but I’ll still get a place in the program. Don’t think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m better than you.” You explained. “But why are you here? You don’t like history.”

“You’re wrong.” Ramsay shot at you. “I do. Mr. Cayce wanted me to be here. He gave me the app.” Your questions were being slowly answered. 

“I didn’t know. I thought I was the only one.”

“Well, you weren’t, Miss Perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Do you have straight A’s?”

“Yes, but—

“Then you’re perfect.” He replied with a huff. You knew Ramsay was hard to get along with. He wasn’t popular because everyone liked him. He was popular because everyone feared him. You still liked him anyways. He never bullied you, but this conversation wasn’t going well.  
You heard the assistant call your name. She gestured you to go inside the office for the interview. You nodded and left Ramsay behind.

“Hey, Perfect,” Ramsay called out to you. You turned to him one more time before entering. He winked. “Good luck in there.”

You thought about that for the rest of the day. On the way home, your eyes glazed over. In your bedroom, you stared at your personal journal. Trying to figure what to say. The words played over and over. His wink. That small smile. Someone had to know. You couldn’t keep these thoughts to yourself.

“What?” David said at lunch that next Monday louder than you wanted. 

“Keep your voice down,” you whispered. 

“I didn’t even know you liked people! Ramsay tho?” David nodded, tucking his finger under his chin. “I can see it. I ship it.”

“What? No. He has a girlfriend. It’s fine.”

“Still ship it.” David reaffirmed.

“He didn’t like me very much during the conversation we had.”

“Did he smile at you?” David asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “And he winked at me.”

David dropped his water bottle like a mic. “Ship it.”

When you received the email that you made it into the next round of interviews, you were ecstatic. This time you showed up in a pink blazer with a white blouse underneath. Your black slacks complimented your short heels, but what you liked the most was the statement necklace David nabbed from another friend for you. You swore that your closet was anything David could get his hands on. 

You showed up holding your phone in your hands. You scrolled through every note you took from social media about group interviews. Your breathing matched your heart. Both seemed to be going fast. Group interviews were never your thing, and will never be your thing.

“You alright?” Ramsay asked. You looked up to see the Bolton with a button up shirt and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You it your lip. You considered lying for a moment, but you were terrible at lying. Why would you lie? It was written all over your face. This was not fine. 

“No,” you said in the smallest voice. Your downcast eyes found the floor much more comforting to look at than your crush.  
“Is it the group interview? You have nothing to worry about,” Ramsay said casually. “They only do this to make good candidates nervous. You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re perfect,” Ramsay gave you another small smile. “You’ll be measured against your peers, that’s me, and they’ll see how good you are.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m still getting a place in the program. Don’t worry about that.” His cockiness was on full display. He eyed other candidates as they filed into the room. Both of you took a seat next to each other. Ramsay leaned over to you. “Put it away. You’ll look distracted. If you’re still nervous, remember that you have the highest GPA of everyone in this room.”

“What? That’s so dumb. Why would I—

“You do. I already did the research. You have the highest GPA out of everyone in this room.” Ramsay finished his thought. He leaned back as the group interview started. Dr. Anna was there, but it was the Program Director that led the interview. Three other candidates introduced themselves while you and Ramsay were last. They shot easy questions at first. Why do you want to be in this program? What draws you to history?

But then came the more difficult questions. Why should they pick you? What do you have to bring to the table? You answered your best until you remembered what Ramsay told you. 

“Ms. Y/N, what are your biggest weaknesses?” the Program Director asked you. Everyone’s head turned towards you.

“I believe my biggest weaknesses are my shyness and how introverted I am.” You watched two of the interviewers lean forward. “I may be quiet, but it’s something I’d like to work on. If I was offered a place here, I would be in good company. Learn and teach from thoe around me and create new friendships.”

You almost wanted to slap your momma that was such a good answer. You watched Ramsay’s smile grow because of you. 

“Mr. Bolton, what are your strengths?” 

“I know more about that painting to the left than you do,” Ramsay’s quick tongue earned a heated response.

“Do you?” The Director challenged. Ramsay leaned forward.

“The Arnolfini Portrait was painted by Jan van Eyck in the 1430’s. It’s a double full length portrait depicting an Italian merchant and his soon to be bride.”  
“You can’t prove that his bride.”

“I can.” Ramsay smiled. “Erwin Panofsky and other accredited art historians regarded this as a unique form of marriage contract, recorded as a painting. It was one of the first portraits done entirely in oils and highly regarded for its perspective. Of course, that’s only a copy. The original is in London. Any questions?”

You watched the Director frown and crumble up paper on the spot. You thought you could hear him say ‘that little shit’ under his breath. After the group interview was finished, you waited around for Ramsay who spoke with the art historian. He looked at you and did another double take. He excused himself, walking towards you.

“You know, you’re not the nicest guy at school—or ever,” you shot a look at the Director whose sour face could not be wiped from his face. 

“I’m not. Why do you bring it up?”

“Why are you helping me?” you asked. Your hands fiddled with your phone. “Don’t you want a place for yourself?”

“Of course I do, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, but that doesn’t answer my question.” Ramsay blankly stared at you for a moment before rolling his eyes. 

“This program leads to promising futures. I would rather make my alliances now,” Ramsay explained. You narrowed your eyes.

“Wha-I-Is this some kind of medieval time war game? A game of thrones? Or something?” you blurted out.

“It’s principle. I help you now. You’ll help me later.”

The words made sense, but it certainly didn’t help your feelings. You would still watch him from afar. As soon as the bell rang, Ramsay was in his girlfriend’s arms. Your stomach didn’t forgive you whenever you watched. It felt like torture every single time. 

You didn’t know much about her. Only that she was just as popular, an average student, and her hair was kissed by fire. She was a fiery one. And wild. No wonder Ramsay liked her so much. And you were…the exact opposite. Quiet, unpopular, cautious, nervous. The words flowed through your head. You couldn’t hold a candle next to her.

You turned to go to your own lockers. You couldn’t watch them together anymore. Not when you and Ramsay had grown so much closer than you ever expected. 

The reviewing process for the museum summer program was underway and it was only a matter of days until you found out whether or not you had a place in it or not. You decided to distract yourself in the school library going over your notes for your next history test. Your eyes almost glazed over until he sat down in front of you.

“Why are you always dressed like this?” Ramsay asked.

“What do you mean?” you replied, looking up from your notes. Ramsay gestured to your outfit. Another t-shirt and jeans. It was easy. No real thought into it.

“This. Why don’t you wear your other clothes to school?”

“The interview clothes?”

“Yeah,” Ramsay scoffed. “Don’t you want to impress some guy you like?” You felt your heart skip a beat. Heat rushed to your cheeks.

“W-well, it’s just looking good isn’t that important. I would rather study.”

“Rather study,” Ramsay mocked. “High school isn’t life or death, you know. You should wear your other clothes. You’re prettier in them.” 

Ramsay got up from the seat and looked towards the library entrance. His girlfriend entered and waved him over. He nodded and then looked back to you.

“Stop studying. You’ll be fine. Remember? You’re perfect.” Ramsay tapped the table twice and left. Your mind was reeling. He thought you were pretty. Well, he thought you were pretty in your ‘other’ clothes. Did he like you? No, he has a girlfriend. He likes her. He called you perfect again. Was he being sarcastic? The questions and answers spiraled in your head so much that when you were in history you almost wrote Ramsay’s name instead of the correct answer on the test.

But you tried it. 

The next day you wore your ‘other’ clothes to school. You did your hair. You even put a little more makeup on. Just to see. Yes, more people looked your way, and the attention was a bit much. You noticed Ramsay’s friend looking at you longer than you were comfortable with. 

It was almost lunch and you carefully put your English notebook away when you felt a close presence behind you.

“See? Much better,” Ramsay smiled. You looked around for a moment, catching Ramsay’s girlfriend eye. She was seething.

“What are you doing?” you asked. Ramsay finished texting on his phone and his attention turned back to you.  
“You and I are going to Mr. Cayce’s classroom.” 

You looked back at her. She was still seething. You almost thought she was on fire. “Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to be too happy.”

“She doesn’t matter,” Ramsay shrugged. “Don’t worry. She’s not mad at you. She’s mad with me, and frankly it’s getting fucking annoying.” Ramsay said that last sentence particularly louder. Both of you looked her way. She rolled her eyes and walked off with their mutual friends. 

The walk to Mr. Cayce’s classroom was quiet. Until, Ramsay’s hand brushed by yours. You wanted to say something or mumble some sort of apology. When you glanced at him, he seemed too satisfied with himself. As if he did it on purpose. What game was he playing at? You were going to protest his mockery with your anger when you reached Mr. Cayce’s door.

He smiled wide and welcomed you both inside. He placed his hands on his hips. “Congrats to both of you! You made it.”

You felt like you could fly. You felt a sad weight lift off your chest and joy fill it in its place. Your summer would be spent around art, statues, artifacts, and anything you could get your hands on. You would be in the company of other people who did what you wanted to do for a living. You wouldn’t be stuck in your house listening to another argument or hiding away from the tension. In your glee, you squealed and hugged Ramsay much tighter than you planned to. 

You blinked and realized you were holding your crush and that his face was inches from yours. Heat rushed to your cheeks again and you let go, mumbling a short ‘sorry’. You watched Ramsay’s face go from confusion to a secret satisfaction in seconds. He was enjoying your embarrassment.

“Thank you, Mr. Cayce,” Ramsay spoke for the both of you. “What do we need to do now?”

“Keep your grades up for the rest of the year,” Mr. Cayce explained. “I’ll get more information to you when it becomes relevant. And celebrate! Both of you did so well!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ramsay smirked. “We’ll celebrate.” He winked at you. When you told David about it, he almost fell to the floor.

“I can’t believe he said that.” David was beside himself. “He’s so into you.”

“He makes fun of me. He knows I like him a lot and he makes fun of me for it.”

“So, Ramsay’s a little mean. He’s still into you.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“He told you that you were pretty.”  
“He says I’m pretty in these clothes.”

“He called you perfect.”

“He’s mocking when he says that.”

“I still ship it,” David said while sipping away at his cool drink. He stopped and then he started to hit you repeatedly. “There’s a party! It’s at some fucker’s house! He’s gonna be there! We have to go!”

“What? No!” you reacted. “I don’t like parties. There’s so many people. And there’s gonna be drunk people—

“He said you two were gonna celebrate! This is it! It’s your chance!”

“I have no chance with him.” David was having none of your negativity (as best friends usually do). Before you knew it, you were at the house party in another outfit David put you in. Only this time, it wasn’t for an interview. Your thigh highs showed off your legs while your new crop top (that David may or may not have cut in the car) showed more skin you’ve ever shown in your life.

David led you into the house party. Loud music played while everyone’s conversation with each other were louder. Red solo cups were filled with a mixture of alcohol and punch. A few girls looked your way and commented on your outfit.

“Y/N? Wow! You look so good!” one of them shouted. “Total queen bee right now!” You smiled and nodded. Sometimes you forgot how nice girls were. As you continued through the party, you noticed more smoke clouds, couples kissing in secret, and someone dressed as a banana? You shook your head and kept going.

David pushed you towards Ramsay and his friends. You watched him chug down another beer. Ramsay took one look at you and spit out half of his beer. His eyes were wide as a hungry dog watching dinner be made. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, but you heard him. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you waved. 

“You’re here,” Ramsay looked down your shirt. “In that.” You nodded. Silence feel between both of you. David rolled his eyes. He couldn’t hold his tongue anymore.

“Have fun with your dick appointment,” David said and left without another word.

“Dick appointment?” Ramsay laughed. He looked back to you and bit his lip. “You wearing that for me?”

“No,” you said in your smallest voice. This couldn’t be anymore mortifying. Ramsay’s smile grew wicked. 

“No,” he shook his head. “You’re wearing that for me.” 

“Ramsay—

“Y/N,” he teased. You could smell his hoppy breath. “Am I the dick appointment?” 

You bit your lip as a response. What else could you say? Ramsay’s mouth salivated like a dog. You watched him lick his lips and his eyes set on you.

“I knew it,” he said as he grabbed you. He pushed through people to get you into a small bedroom. Ramsay barricaded the door and turned to you. “You have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

You felt Ramsay’s hand run up your thigh. His fingers found their way inside your panties. They moved back and forth along your pussy. His mouth found yours not long after. Your mind raced. This is what you dreamed about. What you always wanted was now a reality. You’ve never done anything like this before. 

Your hands ran through his hair, kissing him back. You couldn’t have enough. He tasted exactly like the beer he chugged and the junk food he shoved into his mouth, but who cares? In this one moment, he was yours. You opened your mouth and moaned. Ramsay’s fingers went inside of you and you moaned more from pleasure than from pain. 

You found yourself in a tangle with him. Both of you were panting and sweating. Ramsay pressed himself against you as he thrusted inside of you. He was rough. He held your hands above your head and kept going. You had him. He was all over you with no sign of stopping. 

Each second with him grew more intense. He buried himself in your neck. Your hands held him close, but you wanted him closer and closer. You heard the bedframe moving and the music disappear. All you heard was him grunting. All you could feel was him. His arms around your body. His mouth on yours. 

He was so horrible to everyone, but he felt so wonderful. He groaned your name loud and your felt warmth between your legs. He lifted himself off of you and sat on the bed. You started to hear the loud music again. His eyes focused in the dark. As did yours. Then the shameful realization came to you.

“You cheated on her with me, didn’t you?” you asked. Your stomach churned when he didn’t answer you. You dressed yourself and set off without another word. David caught you storming out the party. 

“What happened?” David asked, grabbing you. He saw your teary eyes and shaky breath.

“I just wanna go home.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Please just take me home,” you said. You couldn’t sleep for the next couple of days. You watched Ramsay hold her hand. Ramsay kiss her on the lips. All while you knew exactly what both of you did together. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak or look at Ramsay.

But he was insistent on speaking with you. He left several notes in your locker when texting wouldn’t work. He stared at you during history class. Whenever you saw him coming towards you, you avoided him. Suddenly, spending the summer with him at the museum didn’t sound wonderful anymore. If he could do that to his girlfriend, he could do that with you.

Three weeks went by just like that. Avoiding him. Not looking at him. Pretending like he didn’t exist. At first, you thought you were sick. You skipped a day and thought your nausea would go away. Then, it was the fatigue. You barely could keep awake in history class anymore. Your body felt sluggish as if you had to drag yourself to do everything. You thought it was weird that your period didn’t come.

Wait.

Your period didn’t come.

“I’m so scared,” you told David. He waited with you in his bathroom, trying to keep you calm.   
The seconds felt like forever.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be fine,” David rubbed your back in circles. It felt comforting, but it couldn’t solve the current issue. “This could all be stress. I mean, isn’t your stepsister suing your dad for something?”

“Yeah, for rent, and he’s countersuing.”

“See? Stress. You have a lot on your plate. It could be nothing.” David tried reassuring you, but the seconds were up. The results of the pregnancy test could change your life. Your stomach flipped and turned. Your chest felt tight. You held the small item in your hands and saw the two blue lines.

It was positive.

Everything was a blur. The room had to be spinning. This couldn’t be happening. You had plans. You wanted to go to college. You wanted so much more. Monday came around, and you felt the same. Sluggish, shitty, and trying your best. When you approached your locker for the first class of the day, you saw Ramsay. He watched you not too far away.

You had to tell him. 

Quickly thinking of something, you wrote down a meeting time and place on a piece of notebook paper. You approached him saying nothing and handed him the note.

“You’re acknowledging me now? What’s this?” Ramsay took the paper and unfolded it. “What is it?”

“We’ll talk later. That time. That place. Ok?”

“We can’t talk now? Because that’s what we’re doing, we’re talking now.”

“Ramsay, I don’t have the time. I have to go to class.”

“No, you really don’t. Talk to me. Now.” Ramsay waited for you to say something. All you could manage was sigh and close your eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Ramsay.”

Ramsay blinked. He stood there, almost unfazed. “You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant. With your child. It’s yours.” Your vision started to blur. Your face felt wet. Ramsay looked around and took you aside. The bell rung and the hallway was nearly empty of everyone save for a few tardy students.

“You’re serious?” Ramsay’s hands fell on your shoulders. You nodded, trying to keep tears back. Ramsay let out a long and slow exhale.

“I’m sorry,” you said through the tears. “I can get rid of it. I’m not asking for anything.” 

“Oh shut up,” Ramsay kissed your forehead, almost smiling. “This…changes a lot of things, but we can do this, alright? Stop crying.”

“We?”

“You didn’t think I would let you do this on your own, did you?” Ramsay tucked his finger under your chin. 

“What about—

“We broke up. Three weeks ago. She found out from one of her friends. Took a picture of us going up the stairs. She wasn’t too happy. I didn’t really care.”

“You don’t care about a lot of things, do you?” you felt anger coursing through your veins. You wanted to slap him. Of course he didn’t care. You let your hand fly until he caught it.

“I care about you, Miss Perfect,” Ramsay said in your face. “I don’t regret what we did that night.” You looked down at your belly and then back to him.  
“Not even now?” 

“Not even now,” Ramsay took your hand. “Are we doing this or not?”

The summer went by and so did the internship. When fall came, you opted out of going back to school with David and Ramsay. You entered into an online school where you could finish your high school degree. It was easier. Less people.

David was more than happy to help you in every way possible. He wanted to throw you a wonderfully big baby shower. That is, until you were thrown out of the house. Your father wouldn’t tolerate or deal with ‘baby drama’. David and his family took you in. 

When Ramsay found out, his heart broke for you and his anger grew against your father. Ramsay moved you in with him and his family. Roose thought you were kind, but naïve. Walda, Ramsay’s stepmother, loved having you around. They were uch nicer and more forgiving than your own family.

When the day finally came, you pushed for hours. You cursed and screamed at Ramsay at first which frightened him. He’d never seen you like that. That day, he made an important mental note to never ever piss you off. You both heard the cries of your little baby girl. She had your eyes, but she barely opened them.

Ramsay and you laid back in the bed, looking down at her and reflecting on the past nine months. Both of you heard a high-pitched squeal to see David. He held an armful of balloons, a teddy bear, and flowers.

“Hi David,” Ramsay greeted. David still squeaked, looking at both you. Ramsay rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

David smiled and like a cute fangirl, he squealed, “I ship it.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: A part 2 for "Ship It"? The reader and Ramsay just came back from their honeymoon and the reader have to go home alonw, so when the she get's home, she finds her family there, because they saw her mariage in a local magazine. A wierd dinner, where Ramsay keeps that sadistic smile while he pretends he's having a good time. Ramsay snaps and release the bitches at her family, so they run away like hell is on their backs. Oh, and please fit David somewhere, hes so cute. HAVE A GREAT WEEK! :) XOXOXOX (Anon)

Your fingers itched as you opened the door. On the other side, Walda and your one year old, Dahlia waited to see your smile. You immediately grabbed your little girl and held her close to you. She was your everything, and the smell of her made you know that you were home again.

“Was she a handful?” you asked your mother-in-law. Walda only smiled and waved her hand about.

“She’s one. Her job is to be a handful,” she eyed Ramsay carrying in the luggage by himself. She shot you a confused look.

“He said he wanted to ‘be the man’ in our marriage,” you rolled your eyes. Ramsay and you married in a small ceremony celebrated by few. David’s family had all come in attendance. The esteemed Boltons were almost confused by Ramsay marrying someone who was just so kind? Nonetheless, you met Ramsay’s rich cousins. You thought they didn’t exist.

Roose was more than impressed by his son and you. Both of you excelled in education, art history, and class. His gift was sending both of you to Paris, to the Louvre specifically. Roose and Walda agreed to care for little Dahlia in the two weeks you were gone.

Now that you were back, it was time to put your brain to work. Since the baby, you stayed at home and took care of him while Ramsay grew a career in art dealing…and maybe theft. You never asked about what you didn’t see. 

You had your little family, and you were happy. That is, until you saw Walda’s dinner table. Walda loved to fuss over formal dinners and event planning. Roose admired her taste for a quiet cocktail parties and wholesome Christmas get-togethers. She even enjoyed herself while helping you plan the wedding. So, when you saw the table setting for more than the five of you, you turned to her with questions.

“Are we having the Starks over tonight? I know Sansa wanted to visit the baby when we got back.”

You heard Walda sigh. “Y/N, something happened while you were gone. I didn’t think it would be right to bother you with it until Ramsay and you came back.”

“Are we getting arrested?” you asked without another beat. Your grip on your daughter tightened. “Because they can’t do that, you know. We have alibis.”  
“No, dear,” Walda bit her lip. “It was your family. I saw your stepmother at church and she—

“She found out about the wedding, didn’t she?” you said defeated, suddenly realizing who exactly was coming for dinner. When both of you told Ramsay, he thrashed and screamed. No fucking way your father was stepping inside this house. Not without Ramsay cutting them all into pieces. 

Roose took his screaming tantrum away and returned Ramsay back to you with a button-up shirt and pressed slacks. Roose had a similar dinner suit, but Ramsay ditched his jacket. He rolled up his sleeves as usual, giving you a wink in the process. 

Dahlia was dressed in a matching dress to yours. Both were red. Yours fitted to your body, hugging the right curves and edges. Dahlia’s was more like a tu-tu. Everywhere she waddled, her tutu shook. It brought joy to you and Ramsay’s eyes. He picked up his little girl and blew raspberries in her face. 

None of you noticed when the doorbell rang. Ramsay and you continued to play with Dahlia when you heard the familiar drawl of your father’s voice.

“Y/N, it’s been a while,” he said behind all three of you. You scooped up Dahlia while Ramsay stepped in between you and your father. His glaring eyes pointed at the man. No, Ramsay wouldn’t be ignored tonight.

“Good evening, Patrick,” Ramsay spat.

“Boy, my name’s not—

“I don’t care. You don’t know my daughter’s name. Why should I have respect for your name?” The tea that Ramsay served was piping hot. Before anything else could be said, you dragged your husband to the table.

Roose and Walda sat at each of the heads of the fine, handmade dinner table. On one side, you and Ramsay sat, directly across from your father and your stepmother who forced a smile on her face. Her blonde curls and done-up eyes were pretty to look at, but you quickly took note of how many glasses of wine she drank. It was two. She was on her third.

“Y/N, sweetie,” your stepmother broke the ice. “We didn’t know you got married.”

“That was on pur—

You covered Ramsay’s mouth, and then you used your own words. “I didn’t think you would be interested.”

“Not interested? Honey, you got married!”

“And yet, you watched me get kicked out by this man,” your stare turned to your father. Suddenly, you felt braver than you did before. Ramsay squeezed your hand. Roose quietly ate his dinner, knowing fully well what kind of person his son was.

“I didn’t kick you out,” you father tried to say.

“So what exactly did you do then?” Ramsay’s sass was sharp. “Since you see things so differently.”

“We got into an argument. She wanted to go. She chose to go!” your father raised his voice. Ramsay quickly noted your flinching. He didn’t like that one bit.

“She chose to go? Your pregnant daughter decided to leave the security and safety of her own home?” Ramsay pushed your father’s buttons more. Your stepmother looked uncomfortable in her seat. She poked around at the food on her plate. Your father rose from his seat. Roose kept his eye on him, but didn’t move.

“Don’t you come at me, boy,” your father said. 

“I’m not a boy. I’m your daughter’s husband. And your granddaughter’s father.” Ramsay didn’t stand from his seat. “Be careful what you say to me.”

Your father barked his laughter at the pair of you. “Oh, you have it all figured out then? Don’t need us, do you? You know, you always thought you were better than all of us.”

“I don’t think that.” You said quietly.

“Yes, you do,” your father pushed back. He gulped down the wine glass and continued. “That’s why you ran from us and got hitched.”

“I didn’t run. I love Ramsay.” You said even quieter. Your voice started to shake. Your stepmother started to laugh at you. Tears burned at the edges of your eyes. 

“Oh honey. This isn’t love,” she gestured to the both of you. “You’re just teenagers who fucked and are stuck with your mistake.” Ramsay lunged forward in his seat. Roose was there to catch him.

“Calm yourself,” Roose said. “Attempt to enjoy the dinner.” The now-awkward dinner continued forth much to your displeasure. Your cell flashed with a text message.

Walda ‘Mums’: ‘I didn’t think it would be this bad. I want to apologize.’

You smiled to yourself and glanced at Walda. She preoccupied the baby and continued polite conversation with your stepmother. You would answer her later. Your phone silently flashed again.

David: ‘What the fuck is happening? Ramsay just told me to get in my car and grab garden tools??????’

You: ‘My father and stepmother found out about our wedding. We’re having dinner with them now.’

David: ‘NO FUCKING WAY How???’

You: ‘Walda bumped into the bitch at church.’

David: ‘Idk how they let her in there with all of that Satan stank on her.’

You: ‘We’re not killing anyone tho. Ramsay’s pretty pissed.’

You looked to Ramsay. He gave you a smile. In seconds, you watched his smile to you change to a malicious smirk directed at your father. You hated your father for everything he did wrong, including kicking you out the house. However, you did feel bad for the poor bastard. Ramsay did as he wanted.

You remembered that lovely summer art internship and how Ramsay tore apart one of the art museum directors there just so Ramsay could take his place. His games worked. 

David: ‘Oh yeah I know. Still, I love your crazy ass husband. How IS he in bed???’ 

You rolled your eyes and didn’t want to give David the satisfaction. Your ears tuned into the conversation.

“Don’t you remember?” your stepmother said to you. “Ugh, she’s doing that day dream thing again.”

“I’m here,” you said, sighing.

“I was telling Walda that you had a bedwetting problem when you got older. Remember that? She was always such a nervous girl, you know?”

“I remember having a urinary tract infection and then Aunt Lilly taking me to get treated because you two ‘couldn’t find the time’.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” your father shot at you. “That’s your mother you’re talking to.” Your fist was soon met with Ramsay’s entwining fingers. He kissed your forehead.

“Excuse her, we had a long way home,” Ramsay smiled at both of your parents. “You see, we just got back from our honeymoon today.”

“Honeymoon? You went on a honeymoon?” Your stepmother asked.

“Yes, all paid by my father, Roose. Because he loves Y/N as if she was his own daughter.”

“It was a pleasure,” Roose smiled at you. “Y/N is someone to be revered. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Are you sure?” you stepmother butted in. “I mean, she did get knocked up by your son.”

“I love your daughter,” Ramsay told her with his best sadistic smile. “We didn’t get knocked up. We were blessed. I love our little bean.” You watched Ramsay genuinely smile at his daughter. Then change his smile back to sadism when he looked back at now drunk woman who sat across from him. “And I would do anything for the both of them.”

“No, you knocked my daughter up,” your father corrected Ramsay. “Then again, she could’ve trapped you.”

“Dad!—

“I think you need to lay off on the wine, perhaps,” Roose butted in, taking his wine glass away. You could smell him from where you sat. Roose was too late. Your father had probably done some pre-game drinking at home before coming here.

“Y/N couldn’t hold down a single boy before you. She takes after me, not much of a looker.” Your father kept going. Every word that spilled out of him hurt even more, but you felt the tension Ramsay held in his bones. Your father left the alcohol think for him. “She saw a rich family and thought about the benefits. And she trapped you, boy.”

Ramsay quietly stood up from his seat and grab his daughter. Saying nothing to any of you, Ramsay left the formal dining room and walked into the basement with tiny Dahlia. Your parents kept on laughing and mocking you, but it didn’t matter anymore. You knew where that basement led to.

The kennels.

Soon, you heard a horde of pitbull rescues storm up the stairs and into the dining room where all of you were. While Roose and Walda tried to calm the rescues, your parents started to freak out. Ramsay handed over your daughter to you. She waved at a few of them. Dahlia loved all the dogs she got to pet. 

You held Dahlia close to you, covering her ears. It was about to be very loud. Your parents cussed and swore at the dogs. Ramsay muttered a single command and all of the dogs sat quietly waiting for him. Ramsay turned to your parents.

“Your kind are not welcome here any longer,” Ramsay smiled and then whistled. “You’re done. Get’em.” Like a chorus, all of the dogs barked and growled at your parents. They sloppily found their way out with absolutely no help from the rest of the family. Ramsay followed your father to his car. Once your father and stepmother were locked safely inside, Ramsay stopped the dogs again.

You heard his cruel words from where you stood on the lawn.

“The next time you want to tell me that your daughter trapped me and that my baby is a mistake, I’ll cook you both and feed you to your children.”

“You some fucking psycho or some—

“I am,” Ramsay smiled. “I’m crazy. Like I told you, there’s nothing I won’t do for my girls. Remember that next time.”

“Next time?” your father questioned. “I’m not coming back to your crazy ass house.”

“Who said anything about coming back here?” Ramsay leaned into the car. “No, I meant about all of the cameras I have set up in your home. I know when you’re there. I know when you leave. If you come near my girls again, I’ll know. I know everything, including your affair with your babysitter.”

“What the hell are you talking about, boy?” your father screamed. “I’m not fucking some seventeen year old girl!” Ramsay gave your father the best shit eating grin he had.

“I didn’t say it was you who’s fucking a seventeen year old girl,” Ramsay hit the car twice before leaving. The car zoomed off without another beat. You heard Roose and Walda gather up the dogs back inside the house.

“Why can’t we just shoo people away?” Walda said, scratching a pup’s ears. “Must we always bring out the dogs to run people out?”

“It’s more fun this way,” Roose replied. Ramsay joined your side again.

“Thank you,” you told him. “for everything.”

“For the record, I never wanted them to see her,” Ramsay held his hands out for Dahlia. He cradled her and kissed her little head. “I don’t think she’s a mistake either.”

“I know what my father’s bullshit sounds like you don’t have to—

“No,” Ramsay interrupted you. “You didn’t trap me. I’ve loved you for a long longer than you realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always thought you were perfect. Perfect grades. Perfect eyes,” Ramsay chuckled to himself. “Perfect body.” You rolled your eyes.  
“I had a baby. My body’s not perfect.”

Ramsay shrugged. “Is it still your body?”

“Yes—

“Then it’s perfect,” Ramsay kissed your cheek. You both heard a long and loud ‘awww’ from behind you. There, in Spongebob pajamas and holding a shovel, stood David. 

“David, what are you doing here?”

“Ramsay told me to roll up.” David smiled.

“I told you to stay home.”

“And ya’ll thought I was gonna miss out on crazy white boy drama? Uh uh,” David looked at the three of you. Both of you stood close enough together that dahlid idly played with your hair while still in Ramsay’s arms. David smiled. “I still ship it.”


End file.
